Moments in Time
by KCS
Summary: Drabbles, ficlets, and oneshots, tags or missing scenes as I work my way through a TOS rewatch. This chapter: Tag scene to Doomsday Machine, just a bit of schmoop and fluff for those who like that sort of thing.
1. Arena

**Series Title**: Moments in Time - Arena  
**Episode**: _Arena_  
**Warnings/Spoilers: ** Spoilers and missing tag scene for _Arena_, nothing more  
**Rating**: K  
**This Chapter Word Count**: 1956  
**Series Summary**: To re-acclimate myself in this fandom, I'm doing a slow episode rewatch, and will be doing a drabble or ficlet that is a missing scene or tag to each episode as I watch them. They will not be in chronological or any particular order, just in that which strikes my fancy.  
**A/N**: Somewhere I vaguely recall a meme prompt asking for Spock to find Kirk sleeping at Spock's desk or something like that, so this is an answer to that prompt, though I have no idea of its location. If you requested it, here it is; if not, enjoy anyhow. :P

* * *

It has been a very long day.

The sentence's sheer illogicality itself, and the fact that it even crossed his mind as such, are clear indications that the tension of the day's events have crossed a mental boundary, and he is in need of what the humans call 'unwinding,' or at the least meditation and/or a time apart from ship's business. A decided inconvenience, this half-human component of his physiology; and yet, to deny what exists in the form of his mind's demands is hardly logical.

It is for that reason that he accepts the captain's request for a chess match this evening. Their discourse has been slightly strained since the closure of their encounter with the Metrons; not exactly awkward, but somewhere beyond the cold silence that tends to fall when they have had a serious disagreement. Captain Kirk is a brilliant commander, of that there is no doubt; but he is stubborn, impulsive – both traits which can be simultaneously brilliant strengths and desperate weaknesses.

Spock may not be impulsive, but he is equally stubborn. They make a command team to be feared across the galaxy, but the casualty of such a symbiotic relationship is the occasional instance when they disagree over a command decision. Spock's clear deference has never been in question; but it is that very knowledge, the knowledge that in the end, he will follow James Tiberius Kirk off a cliff if the man asks him to – it is that very knowledge that sometimes sets the captain off in irritation at the very loyalty upon which Kirk so relies.

It is a most illogical state of human emotion, one which he has learned the hard way to deal with; namely, with extreme caution.

Jim's eyes had apologized for his reactions on the Bridge, quiet though his reprimand had been; Spock had just as silently acknowledged both the apology and the somewhat-deserved reprimand itself. And yet, there still exists that slight tension which is probably obvious to no one but them, which indicates that they have, however awkwardly, crossed yet another hurdle in this strange embarkation of interspecies cooperation.

Kirk had informed him when he accepted the position of First Officer that he wished Spock to be comfortable telling the captain when he disagreed with his command decisions, if the consequences of those decisions might be disastrous for the crew. Spock had, in this instance, done so; and in doing so, had created this void between them. He had been in the right, and they both knew and know it; however, that knowledge does not mend a fissured relationship, and so he accepts Jim's olive branch of a chess game in the spirit in which it is meant.

Now, he pauses in the doorway of his cabin, and regards the scene before him, feeling all remaining irritation with this most illogical of humans melt away in an inexplicable feeling of warmth somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

Months ago he had finally caved under the pressure of Kirkian charm (and the fact that he was growing weary of his commanding officer standing outside his door hollering cheerfully at him whether or not he was coming to breakfast and for heaven's sake how long does it take a Vulcan to brush his teeth, anyway) and simply told the captain to enter his cabin at will. If he required privacy, he would engage the command override, and the door would not open at Kirk's approach. This has worked well for all concerned, especially the much-amused gamma shift crewmen on either sides of their respective cabins.

Apparently, Jim has taken advantage of this permission this evening, because he sees that the captain's much-loved wooden chess board is carefully in place on the table, pieces arranged on the Tri-D tiers so that he begins as white (Kirk insists Spock play white, because if human ingenuity wins against Vulcan logic Kirk wants to say he did so without advantage). Two cups of Vulcan spice tea stand at the side of the table, one half-empty and the other just beginning to stop steaming. The aromatic fragrance of the spices fills the room, soothing and welcoming as the intent is behind the therapeutic drink.

And apparently, the scents are relaxing enough to put a man to sleep, because Jim's limp head is pillowed upon his arms resting on the table. Soft, steady breathing indicates he has been asleep for some minutes, obviously exhausted from the events of the day and fully at ease in his surroundings.

Spock feels strangely gratified at this; no one else, he is aware, has ever even wished to remain in his cabin for longer than is strictly professionally necessary. But Jim Kirk, from the moment he tripped and fell flat on his face in front of his CSO the first time, exclaiming in surprise over the increased gravity and dry heat, has somehow maneuvered himself so neatly into Spock's private life that Spock really has no idea how he surrendered a battle he never knew he'd begun.

The sound of his placing a stack of data-padds on the desk in his work area rouses the drowsy human. Kirk lifts his head with a yawn, blinking owlishly in the warm light, and then suddenly realizes where he is and what he was doing, blushes slightly in what must be human embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbles, hastily drowning the words in a lukewarm mug of tea.

"Apologies are illogical, Captain. Are you certain you are in condition to test your wits against mine tonight?"

"I could be drugged on Bones's best meds and still beat the pants off you any day, Mister."

"That rather obscure scenario has obviously never been tested, and therefore its credence is highly in doubt, sir."

Kirk's grin nearly blinds him, so brightly does it flash his direction. "So you're not still mad at me, then."

"I am not, as you humans term the emotion, 'mad,' in either its colloquial or original linguistic sense, Captain."

"Well, you're a better man than I, Mr. Spock." All amusement is gone from the tone, like sunshine vanishing under a storm cloud. It is a most disquieting phenomenon. "As events today proved so obviously to everyone concerned."

Spock leans against the desk behind him, knowing his relaxed posture is a language all its own to this perceptive human. "Sir, I believe you humans have a saying: what is done, is done. The equivalent Vulcan proverb is _Kaiidth_; what is, is. To spend time wishing things were not so, is illogical."

The corners of Kirk's mouth twitch slightly, though the lines of tension around his eyes have slightly eased. "In other words, I need to just forget what an idiot I was today?"

Spock seats himself opposite the human in a fluid gesture, and nudges a pawn out into a very general opening gambit. "I believe the human expression is, 'you said it, not I.'"

The snort of laughter he receives is well worth the tension of the last few hours, and they spend a very enjoyable two more endeavoring to best each other in a game of wits and mental ingenuity. Kirk is somewhat restless as they play, however, and before long it distracts him from his fight to best the incorrigible human's utterly illogical playing style.

"Are you in pain, sir?" he asks at one point, when Kirk shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The faint color that rises in the human's face indicates the truth, and he frowns slightly. "Did you not see Dr. McCoy following our removal from the Metrons' star system?"

"I did, Spock, I promise. The Metrons returned me to the ship and cleaned me up, you saw that; they just didn't really patch up the injuries I got during my face-off with the Gorn." The human rubs his side with a rueful grimace. "Bones said I had a fractured ankle and pretty nasty bruising, almost all the way to the bone, down my hip and leg. Patched the ankle up right away with the bone-knitter, though, so I'm fine. Not even twenty minutes in Sickbay; that has to be a record."

Spock moves a knight to the second tier of the board, and raises an eyebrow at his opponent. "You did not see fit to have the doctor heal your more minor injuries?"

Jim grins at him, a rueful gesture and one full of equal parts amusement and embarrassment. "When I was eight, Spock," he says, and Spock does not react to the abrupt change in subject, "Sam was thirteen. He talked me into helping him build a homemade phaser in the barn, and we blew a hole straight through the hayloft and roof."

Spock's eyebrows climb even higher, because this sadly does not surprise him in the least, and when did he become so tolerant of a human's idiocy?

"A couple of support beams came loose and swung down, broke Sam's left arm and banged me up pretty bad as well." The captain grins even wider, and shakes his head ruefully, moving a bishop into position three squares away. "Mom had a dermal regenerator in her home first-aid kit, but she wouldn't heal the nasty scrapes I got to the side of my head. Said I needed to learn a lesson, and maybe yowling with pain every time I had to wash my face might make me think a little harder when I wanted to do something stupid like that again."

Ah. Spock sees the correlation now between the Past and the Present self-inflicted reminder, and wonders anew at how very different their childhoods had been, worlds apart. That two so different beings should come together out of all combinations in time and space…he does not believe in Fate, but the evidence to support such a belief is more compelling as time passes. At the least, he counts himself fortunate to have met such a human who so embodies the concept of IDIC, despite occasional lapses like the human had today regarding the Gorn species. That is the danger of being ruled, partly or completely, by emotion; and it is his contrast to that volatile part of Jim Kirk's personality which makes them such a force to be reckoned with by their enemies.

That also is why he has to work so hard to beat this most frustrating human in a game which should by all rights be his without undue effort. There is no logic behind Jim's chess strategy (if he indeed has one, which Spock doubts), and yet he finds himself unable to fully counter the tactics.

It is, in a word, fascinating.

In the end, Jim loses, but that is mostly because he begins yawning again halfway through the last hour and very obviously starts making mistakes due to weariness and lingering discomfort. Spock's victory is in name only, as he has not been forced to make an effort to bring the game to a close; he has done so with ruthless efficiency only because Kirk's exhaustion and concurrent lapse of attention are seeping through his stubbornly proud expression.

The human is still berating himself for his conduct of earlier, unbefitting a Starfleet officer and unworthy of one who is such a staunch supporter of Spock personally, alien or half-alien or otherwise. Jim is _better_ than he behaved today, and Spock can see he is thoroughly ashamed of his actions, and evidently unable to move past them without some sort of absolution.

"I think I deserved that," the captain observes softly, as his king topples from the top tier of the board.

Spock's hands are under the piece before it strikes the desk, and in one gentle movement he replaces the black king in its original starting position.


	2. The Trouble with Tribbles

**Episode: The Trouble with Tribbles**

"I believe, _gentlemen_," and the word is fairly dripping with sarcasm, "that my orders were to get every. Last. One. Of these…creatures, off my ship."

Captain James Tiberius Kirk, in full ranting mode, spins on his heel in front of his seated subordinates, hands fisted on his hips. Eyes flashing, he stares down his First Officer, who naturally shows no outward reaction. "Imagine my feelings, then, when after breaking orbit from Starbase K-7 I discover that two of my commanding officers have blatantly disregarded that order."

Scotty looks slightly suicidal, but begins to raise his hand, three fingers in the air. A sharp elbow from McCoy stops him, aborts the action before the captain can see.

"_Three_ of my commanding officers," Kirk amends sharply, and McCoy gives up, because the captain has almost Vulcan-like senses after a couple years in Spock's company. "Gentlemen, I do believe my orders were quite clear. What have you to say for yourselves?"

"Well, first of all, Captain, the poor thing's been kept on a strict diet and it hasn't reproduced in the week it's been aboard," McCoy begins, in that placating tone that he occasionally adopts in an effort to keep stubborn patients in Sickbay without physically sedating them.

"I fail to see how that is grounds for clear insubordination, Doctor McCoy," is the cold retort, and he winces, knowing from the tone that it is The Captain speaking and Jim is nowhere to be found right now.

"We found it only after we'd left orbit, sir," Scotty, bless his heart, attempts to reason with their irate commander, with little effect. "We couldnae just put it down like a – like a puir rabid dog or something, sir!"

"So instead of informing me of its discovery, you instead decided to take it upon yourselves – all three of you – to keep it as a _pet_ without my knowledge?" Scott winces at the tone, and shakes his head silently; it's wiser to just shut up in these situations and let the captain's rant run its course.

"Jim, don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit?" McCoy ventures calmly.

Kirk whirls his direction, eyes flashing. "Doctor, within twenty-four hours just one tribble had crippled this constitution-class starship to the point of threatening our food supply and every vital system aboard. Had we been in deep space instead of orbiting a space station, every person on this ship would have been in serious danger of starvation, because the amount of tribbles invading our engine room would have shut us down and left us drifting without the ability to call for help! Does that sound like an overreaction to you, Lieutenant-Commander?"

Oh, geez, he's pulling out the ranking titles now; sure indications that a tantrum of epic proportions is probably on its way. McCoy sighs and mentally hunkers down to wait it out.

"The captain is quite correct, gentlemen. Should the animal escape its confines, it could in theory pose a serious danger to the workings of this ship, however unintentional its actions would be." Spock's trying to get himself firmly back on Jim's side, and McCoy hates him for it, because he's so danged good at it it's really almost sickening.

But not this time, apparently; Jim is worked up good and angry, and even Spock's admitting to being in the wrong isn't having much effect. McCoy can't help but feel a little bit meanly glad that the hobgoblin isn't getting off scot-free this time; Lord knows the pointy-eared menace has already mutinied and stolen the ship itself and got no more than a slap on the wrist for it. Bad for morale, this knowing Spock can get away with murder because he's the captain's favorite and nobody does puppy-eyes like a Vulcan, however weirdly adorable that might be.

"And if your logic recognizes this fact, Commander, then why did you not inform me of the existence of this potential danger to my ship?" The words are sparks, crackling with energy as they are fired rapidly at their First Officer, who has just unwisely drawn the attention to himself. "You are aware, that such a lack of action constitutes professional negligence and is grounds for Starfleet reprimand?"

Spock only blinks placidly back at his angry captain, eyes wide and dark and oh-so-innocent. "I am aware, sir."

"Now look, captain, Mr. Spock wasnae even the one who found the puir thing, an' he did say we should tell ye it was hidin' in the intermix chamber –"

"Scotty, just shut up," McCoy mutters under his breath, because the loyal engineer's just going to pour petrol on that fire.

The stupid little animals are a sore spot with Jim now, because they embarrassed him more than once both aboard ship and on the space station, and if the captain has one fault it's his ridiculous _pride_ in his captain-image. McCoy will never forget the sight of Kirk woefully buried up to the neck in tribbles, and he knows that however expressionless Spock might have been at the time, the Vulcan was fairly twitching with amusement by the time they'd dug out their longsuffering captain.

But the whole incident, plus the very real danger to the ship, have blown the menace of the furry pests way out of proportion now, and they really should have known better. Despite the impossibility of the creature's reproduction if it's not allowed unlimited access to food, the potential for disaster is still there, and they should have told the captain of the tribble's existence.

And, however much he and Scotty might privately poke fun at Spock and his stuck-up Vulcanity, neither of them's going to throw the poor Vulcan under the shuttlecraft and point out that neither of _them_ is really that enamored with the purring little furball.

While he's been trying to keep Scotty from making the whole thing worse than it really is because nobody can get through to Captain-Kirk-on-a-rampage except Spock, Jim has turned his full attention on his First Officer. Spock, standing now to properly counter the captain's chastisement, weathers the explosion with true Vulcan patience, only nodding when appropriate and interjecting some random calm logical comment when he can.

Finally Kirk winds down, ending up toe-to-toe with his First, arms folded over his chest and scowling up at the taller man.

"In other words – you kept it because you _like_ it, Mr. Spock," he states flatly.

Spock somehow manages to look highly affronted using only his eyebrows.

"To destroy a life form simply because of the _potential_ danger it _might_ possibly cause unsupervised is nothing less than a moral crime, Captain. You know this as well as I."

"And you also know he's a sucker for fuzzy animals, Captain," McCoy drawls, happy at this point to just sit back and watch the fireworks, since the attention has been diverted from him and their unfortunate Chief Engineer, who got reluctantly roped into the whole thing through some artful blackmail on McCoy's part.

If looks could kill, Spock would have incinerated him on the spot; as it stands, however, he only grins angelically up at his two commanding officers, both now equally ticked-off at him.

After a brief staring match, Kirk turns back to his First Officer, and his voice softens just slightly. "You really want one, don't you."

Spock of course says nothing to incriminate himself either way, merely reiterating that load of baloney about moral crimes and innocent animal life forms, etc., etc.

"Did I just hear you say it's illogical 'to harm a sentient life form which is aesthetically and auditorally pleasing'?" Kirk finally interrupts, eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline.

Spock's ear-tips suddenly turn an odd shade of jade.

The captain's lips twitch suspiciously, and he finally holds up a placating hand as Spock launches into yet another long-winded explanation of their actions. "You know what, fine," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. "But I swear, Spock, if I find so much as a hair of that…_thing_, on my Bridge, or anywhere else in my ship, I will have it out the nearest airlock without any deliberation. Is that _clear_, gentlemen?"

He receives three identically silent nods, and finally sweeps from the room in dramatic disgust, muttering under his breath about insubordination in the command chain, etc., etc.

Thankful silence falls.

"Ah believe ye owe me five credits, Doctor," Scotty burrs cheerfully in his ear. "Told y'so."

"And I believe both of you owe me three hours of detailed inspection duty for my…_efforts,_ in this incident, gentlemen. My departmental staff will be contacting you shortly to schedule these inspection tours."

McCoy groans, head in his hands. He's sold his soul to a Vulcan, God help him.


	3. Metamorphosis

**Episode: Metamorphosis**

It isn't often that the three of them find themselves with spare time off together. Command runs on a totally separate track from Sciences, though Spock does spend a good portion of alpha shift on the Bridge due to his dual status as First Officer; and nobody knows better than McCoy how Medical runs its own hours at _all_ hours, and those never coincide with _anybody's_ schedule unless there's a rare run of health aboard ship.

So for all three of them to have down time at the same time is a rare occurrence indeed, and McCoy is actually looking forward to having a twelve-hour shuttlecraft ride just to catch up with Jim on the events of the last few busy weeks. And maybe just have a good gab-fest while they're discussing ship's business, since that hasn't happened much lately. He hasn't so much as had time to eat breakfast with the captain in over a week, and in fact only even saw the man the morning Kirk showed up in Sickbay right before a conference call with the Admiralty, demanding a headache pill with all the irritability that indicated he'd discovered McCoy locked out his meal card from complex carbohydrates the night before.

So, the fact that Spock is coming along at the Federation's clear and unarguable "request" on this little venture to pick up Commissioner Hedford, is just butter on the biscuit. He and Spock haven't had a good snipe-fest in a couple of weeks at least, and Jim has been busy with an enormous amount of paperwork from their last few missions, as well as trying to fight the powers-that-be to get his people at least a brief shore leave when they stop for refueling on Gamma Hydra XII's supply station. McCoy well knows both his superiors are exhausted after a grueling month, neither of them having taken their scheduled day off per week for various reasons, and he hopes to coax both of them into relaxing just a bit before they reach their destination and the work of ferrying a high-maintenance diplomat on medical emergency throws them back into the thick of things.

Even Spock's annoying insistence as they pack, that they spend the majority of their unexpected time together doing crew evaluations since they will be more efficient with Command, Science, and Medical all in collaboration from the beginning, can't dampen his eagerness for the trip, and he stows his gear aboard with all the enthusiasm of an Academy cadet going for his first deep-space flight.

Jim only glares half-heartedly at his chatter, as he and Spock begin the pre-flight checklists, and McCoy just pretends not to hear the captain's mumbling under his breath about too-chipper backseat drivers. Scotty bids them a cheerful farewell over the comm channel, before the _Enterprise_ shoots away into hyperspace with a tiny ripple of backlash as their warp bubble forms, intent upon finishing the ship's charting of the Beta Canaris system's localized ion storm, before returning to rendezvous with the _Galileo II_ in two days' time.

Sixty minutes or so later, they are sailing through space with the unexpected but welcome aid of a gentle solar wind. Kirk has finished up navigation computations, had Spock double-check the calculations, and fed them into the shuttle's auto-pilot. Spock is busy double-checking systems and tweaking them here and there, which for some reason amuses McCoy to no end; because how often does the walking database get the chance to tinker with his precious machines, and it's always hilarious to see him not-quite-frowning at some display which does not meet his exacting standards.

McCoy stretches, gets up to make a few cups of coffee at the portable replication unit in the back. Figuring out the contraption (obviously Spock isn't the only one who likes to tinker, and he's going to smack Scotty when he sees him next for changing the buttons all around on him) takes him a good twenty minutes or so, and when he returns with his hard-earned plunder it is to see Spock leaning back in his chair, chin resting on one thin hand, just silently watching his co-pilot.

This is nothing new, and McCoy rolls his eyes. It's ridiculous how everyone thinks Spock never shows emotion; 'cause if that's not affection and amusement in the hobgoblin's expression then McCoy'll drink his coffee decaf for the rest of the trip. Spock's almost relaxed-looking, which is scarily weird, and the corners of his eyes are all but _smiling_, which is even weirder.

He plunks a steaming coffee cup down in front of Spock, and then settles easily into the seat directly behind the Vulcan, grinning widely over the rim of the cup.

Because Jim is snoring fit to wake the dead, head tipped forward on his chest and hands neatly folded in his lap, slouched into the most uncomfortable of positions behind the navigation console and apparently not caring one bit.

Spock unfolds his arms to re-check the instruments once more, and then swivels in one fluid motion to face the doctor, picking up his coffee cup on the way.

"If you suggest wakin' him up to do your cotton-pickin' crew evals, I will slip you a mocha latte next time," McCoy hisses ferociously, stabbing a finger in the Vulcan's direction.

A dark eyebrow rises slowly over the rim of the coffee cup, as Spock looks dubiously down into the drink's steaming depths.

McCoy settles back with a smirk, raising his own cup in a mocking toast to his companion's wariness of human nature.

Yes indeedy, it's going to be a very interesting, dare he say _fascinating,_ twelve hours.


	4. The Doomsday Machine

**Series Title**: Moments in Time  
**Episode**: The Doomsday Machine  
**This Scene characters**: Kirk, Spock, bit of McCoy  
**Warnings/Spoilers: ** Spoilers for _Doomsday Machine_  
**Rating**: K  
**This Chapter Word Count**: 2131  
**Series Summary**: Missing scenes and tags to each episode as I do a TOS rewatch. This one, a schmoopy little tag to Doomsday Machine, which was the second TOS episode I ever watched and which is still one of my all time favorites.

* * *

**Episode: The Doomsday Machine**

When stranded in deep space without warp capabilities, there is little for members of the command chain to do besides wait out repairs, and plan for the worst-case scenarios such as a shortage of food and water (a rare occurrence on any starship equipped with matter replication devices). Engineering works overtime during such instances of power loss, while Sciences and Operations take up the slack during the times immediately following such long terms of repair work. The procedure is beneficial for all areas of the ship, but the command staff usually bear the brunt of the arrangement.

Such incidents mean triple the amount of paperwork which normally ensues after a successful mission, and given the official implications of this last, Spock is kept quite busy directing, re-directing, and mis-directing reports and forms from hitting the captain's inbox. Spock may not fully understand the human process of grieving, but he does know it requires time, and solitude, for this particular human which he dares in his innermost thoughts call _friend_.

However, when the captain disappears late in ship's night, and does not report to his cabin communicator when Spock finally finishes the previous day's reports around 0530 hours, he decides a minor breach of privacy is in order. He soon discovers that according to Kirk's cabin's bio-monitor, the captain has not been in his cabin since the previous morning. This is not necessarily unusual, especially following a traumatic mission; but upon determining that Dr. McCoy has not been the recipient of a late-night visit, nor has anyone in Engineering put the captain to work repairing his beloved ship, Spock knows this is now a situation in which he should and can become involved.

By this time, Jim knows him well enough to know precisely what will happen if the captain does not report to either his cabin or to Sickbay at some point during the night following an away mission gone wrong. The only issue, is whether or not the time alone has done the human good, as the expression goes.

Spock does not need to search for long; after checking the usual out-of-the-way Jefferies tubes around Engineering without success, he retreats six decks below Engineering to the shuttle bay. And, as he had suspected, he finds his captain slouching in the pilot's seat of NCC-1702/15, feet up on the inert dashboard controls and absently scanning over a well-worn, hardbacked novel. (1)

Kirk glances up, and regards Spock's intruding head with a rueful grin.

"Took you long enough," he remarks, without annoyance, and offers a small smile as Spock settles wearily into the co-pilot's seat. "How late were you up doing my paperwork for me?"

"You would have done the same, sir," he replies, smoothly dodging the question.

Kirk nods, and stretches down to carefully place the fragile book on the floor under his seat. Then he leans back, both hands slowly scrubbing down his face in weariness, eyes closed. "Status report?"

"Repairs on the warp core are proceeding ahead of schedule, though Mr. Scott seems to believe we are better off not knowing precisely how he is managing that remarkable feat." A small chuckle is encouragement enough for him to continue. "Transporter repairs are completed, as they were primarily due to a power drain which was fixed shortly before the warp core repairs began. All else is proceeding as scheduled, and Starfleet Command has been notified of recent events. They have requested a full report from you at an undetermined time within the next forty-eight hours."

One hazel eye opens, squints incredulously at him. "How did you manage _that_ for me?"

"To paraphrase our Chief Engineer, Captain…you do not need to know."

The captain laughs this time, genuinely and without that shadow of grief which Spock had tried unsuccessfully to dispel yesterday with insignificant condolences and an assuming of command tedium. Perhaps solitude and safety have done what Vulcan strategy could not. It is unfortunate, that he is unable to perform the human act of comforting; but he does what he can, and perhaps it is an arrangement which works for them.

Boots clump loudly to the durasteel flooring, as Kirk turns in his chair to face him directly. "I want to apologize for Commodore Decker's treatment of you yesterday, Spock," he says seriously, and Spock blinks in surprise, for it is undoubtedly the last thing he would have expected.

"The Commodore was perfectly within his rights, Captain."

"And he was wrong to be so as well as incapable of assuming command, not to mention discourteous of your command ability. I wouldn't tolerate that from a visiting dignitary, and I wouldn't have tolerated it from him had I been on board. I hope you know that."

"Had you been on board, sir, the situation would never have –"

"Oh, forget it, Spock." A warm grin belies any exasperation in the tone. "How'd you know where to find me, anyhow?"

"I suspected you would be contemplative of the commodore's…feelings, at the time of his absconding with the shuttlecraft yesterday," Spock replies, only vaguely uncomfortable at this admission of understanding and sympathy. "I am aware that you value your crew more highly than all else in the universe, and you must be hypothetically empathetic to the commodore's unfortunate tragedy."

He never fails to be astonished at how his blunt directness can shatter this human's boundaries like nothing else he has ever seen short of a telepathic attack. It is as if he knows precisely where the chinks are in Kirk's armor, and it is as if Kirk almost welcomes the ability to cut straight through all else to the heart of a problem.

"Wow. That's…pretty deep, human introspection for a Vulcan, isn't it?"

"I do my best, sir."

"Of course you do." Kirk's eyes darken then, from rueful amusement to deprecation, sadness. "I can't imagine being in his position, Spock. It's haunted me from the moment I realized." The captain glances down at his hands, clasped between his knees, and Spock sees a full shudder run through their tight grip. "There's no worse nightmare I can ever dream of having, than what he lived through. Thinking he was saving his crew…and then having to listen to them die without being able to do a single thing…it just makes me sick to think about it, Spock."

"You will never be in such a position, Jim."

"You have no way of knowing that," is the quick, almost desperate answer. "It was an error in judgment, nothing more – there's no guarantee I wouldn't have done the exact same thing! I probably would have, actually." Kirk shakes his head, shuddering again. "That could so easily have been me, Spock. And it scares me half to death."

"It would not, _could_ not, have been you, Captain," Spock counters, more earnestly than before.

Kirk lifts an eyebrow his direction, clearly skeptical of what has been called by uninformed (and jealous) colleagues Spock's _blind loyalty_.

"The situation would not have transpired as it did with Commodore Decker, sir, and that I can safely assure you," he clarifies, internally wondering how Kirk does not yet see it himself.

"And just how, Commander, do you know that?"

"Because one of three situations would have resulted from your giving the order to evacuate the ship in the middle of an emergency, to a planet in the system below."

Kirk's eyes are alight with interest now, and what is probably a slight bit of mischief, for Spock is well aware the human enjoys watching him discourse upon scientific possibilities. "All right, Mr. Spock, I'll bite. What are the three hypothetical scenarios you have formulated for such a situation with this ship?"

"One, you would have given the order, to abandon you for the purpose of distracting the planet-killer alone on the _Enterprise_, and at least your senior Bridge crew would have politely refused to follow it."

Sandy eyebrows rise comically, and Spock performs the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. Perhaps the human really has no idea just how far his crew will go to protect him; but truth is truth, and that fact remains.

"Two," he continues, ignoring Kirk's muttered incredulity, "the crew would have evacuated, with the two of us remaining until last. I would then, naturally, have performed whatever actions were necessary to render you unconscious, and would have beamed you down to the same location as your crew. Sir."

The addendum on the end seems to be what sends the human's face into an oddly wide-eyed expression of surprise. "And three?" Kirk manages, in a tone several pitches higher than previously.

"Three, I would simply have refused to obey your evacuation order, sir. Between the two of us and the _Enterprise_ herself, we would have formulated a plan to rid the galaxy of the planet-killer before it endangered the members of your crew which had beamed down to that third planet. That plan most likely would have been to fly the _Enterprise_ into the mouth of the machine itself," he continues, brows drawn thoughtfully at the hypotheticals, "but at the least, you would have been spared the situation in which Commodore Decker unfortunately lost his crew. Which returns us to our original hypothesis; you will never be in that position, Captain."

Kirk's lips are twitching suspiciously, as he swivels his chair toward the blanked viewscreen, and then slowly revolves back again, toes scuffing with a metallic squeak on the floor of the shuttle. "So, basically what you're telling me, Mr. Spock…is that I have a potentially mutinous crew, and especially one belligerently insubordinate First Officer?"

Spock blinks innocently back at him. "Hypothetically speaking, of course, sir."

Kirk nods solemnly. "Oh, of course. Purely hypothetically."

"Purely hypothetically, sir."

"Quite so."

"Indeed."

Kirk's sudden grin dispels the last of the shadows which had surrounded them from the events of yesterday. Spock has long since ceased to wonder at how the man can brighten any room without physically radiating photonic energy; it is a non-scientific phenomenon which certainly bears further study.

A throat clearing jolts them both from their shared moment, and their heads turn to see one apparently very amused Chief Medical Officer slouched in the doorway of the shuttle.

"If y'all are quite done, there's a kid out here who needs to do delta shift Requisition checks and is too scared of our resident hobgoblin to just knock on the door," the doctor drawls lazily, though Spock can immediately tell his sharp eyes are silently categorizing the captain's condition.

"And what, precisely, are you doing here, Doctor?" Spock inquires, refusing to be ruffled by this particular volatile human's shameless smirking.

"I was feelin' left out, Mr. Spock. Oh, for the love of Pete, it was a _joke_, you pointy-eared idiot," Blue eyes roll toward the hangar bay ceiling in a theatrical gesture of disbelief. "Uhura's been tryin' to comm you for the last twenty minutes, Spock. Something about Starfleet Command needing more details about the circumstances surrounding Commodore Decker's assumption of command and his death yesterday."

"Please have the lieutenant inform Admiral Barrett that I will be up shortly. And –"

"Spock." The hand on his arm squeezes gently for a moment, and the captain smiles warmly as he moves past them out of the shuttle. "I'll go actually do my duty and field this call. You at least take alpha shift off and get some rest, I don't want to see you on the Bridge or in the labs until at least 1600 hours. Bones, make sure he eats something, or you're fired."

Spock looks warily at the physician, who is now scowling at the captain's retreating back.

"I assure you, Doctor, I am in no need of sustenance or repose at the present time."

"Yeah, and I'm actually more scared of Jim than you at the moment, so you're coming with me now." McCoy gives him a wicked grin. "Unless you want me to send Christine down to your cabin with a tray and a little too much personalized room service?"

"Your ability to manipulate your fellow crewmen for your own purposes is unsurpassed, Doctor. Truly, a skill to be lauded."

"Indeed," the doctor retorts, grinning. "So, how'd you come along with you-know-who?"

"I believe the captain has grieved for his friend sufficiently, for the present. He does appear in a frame of mind capable of command duty."

"Looked pretty much like he was okay, but I'm counting on you to keep it that way, y'hear me?"

"I believe your unmistakably grating voice could be heard in the delta quadrant, Doctor. My superior hearing, certainly has no difficulty whatsoever."

"Y'know, if Jim didn't like you so much, I would really have to hate you."

"As you humans would say, Doctor…please, do not let that stop you."

* * *

(1) In the episode, at least the remastered version (which I am now watching with great respect), the shuttle Decker stole just said NCC-1701/6 on the side, if I remember correctly. So I just used that numbering system, since we know there were far more emergency shuttles aboard than just the Galileo and the Copernicus.


End file.
